On Reflection

because a box is a box: humans are cultivated into said box without choice or clarification, specimens only existing—as in: (you—i—us). flesh & frame— restricted bone matter comprising a box reluctant not to be a box. but nurtured inside the box, let’s say form which is shaped by & indigenous, to, the box & the creator of the holy box—only leading to another question about, of course, the infamous box—form turns deceitful inside the box like any [thing] caged, leaning to a non-empathetic approach steeped in revolt —is judas in waiting. note: the box is not universal nor the universal. whatever hopes of otherworldliness lies in the box itself. the box will not elongate, dissolve or vanish without reaction to an action & here within lies problem of perspective as in—there is none—zero. along time’s continuum, color, too, is encouraged for the sake of the construction of the box, which is precious as flickering light, but cannot be verified since darkness is the original concept of all things human.